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The year 2025 might sound more futuristic. Maybe it's the presence of the consonant "f" in "five". However 2026 signifies one step beyond, and it's where we currently stand, with every futuristic advancement – chiefly the widespread adoption of AI – appearing dystopian, or perhaps more grim. (It often seems like in a true dystopia, the mind-dulling corporate-sponsored anti-human technology would actually operate a bit better?) Did no one sound the alarm about this?

The response, at least regarding science fiction films made long ago (or sometimes recently) positioned in 2026, is both yes and no. A number of those warnings are universally relevant (worldwide disaster) but in detail far-fetched (when mankind is inevitably decimated, we will almost certainly bring down the ape population with us). Some of them are prescient; others just resemble bad visual effects. Yet it remains worth examining where various directors, ranging from masters to grunts, believed we'd be positioned by this time in the world's evolution. Therefore, we shall examine at some of the films that have been set in 2026 throughout cinematic history and see if they have anything to teach us.

Doom

Well, this isn't promising. According to the game-to-film translation *Doom*, whose two-decade milestone was recently celebrated by hardly anyone, 2026 is the year that humanity discovers a gateway to an long-lost metropolis on Mars, where the inhabitants of Earth can set up a scientific outpost. Currently, the bad stuff – regarding plot and in terms of garish film versions of a first-person-shooter video game – doesn't really transpire for two more decades in the future, so should we do discover a portal to Mars this year, we could gain a respite to avert true disaster. If we did uncover a passageway to an ancient Martian city, it's truly hard to tell whether a certain tech billionaire would still be super-psyched to send everyone to Mars or would instantly become disheartened that the portal wasn't something he personally paid for, allowing him to assert savior-like credit for mankind's expansion into the stars. That's before we even get to the harvesting of extraterrestrial genetics and subsequent transformations into monstrous beings. (Again, this is closer to 2046, distinct from the Wong Kar-wai film.) Overall, *Doom* is (if nothing else) a useful example for why, exactly we let Mars serve as a stretch-goal aspiration for humanity. Whether in John Carpenter's chintzy space-western *Ghosts of Mars*, the more grounded science fiction of *Red Planet*, or the woo-woo mysticism of *Mission to Mars*, our far-off planet doesn't tend to act as a symbol of hope. Should someone wishes to close that questionable Martian real estate sale, maybe they should start with first ensuring the fantasy version look good.

The Marvel Dregs

One of the goofiest quirks of the current MCU is the way it handles the various world-threatening disasters, including a half-decade leap whose occurrences are largely undepicted in the movies themselves; the films have become like a clock radio constantly running a few seconds fast – only instead of minutes, it's years. So there's a whole bunch of MCU content that fan sites clarify to be set in 2026. The better entries, like *Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3* and the underrated romp *The Marvels*, take place distant from Earth, and so seem pretty detached from our sense of time. But the poorer material is some of the worst the studio has ever produced: the convoluted and aimless TV show *Secret Invasion* and the Zoom-call farce of *Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania*. Judging by this stuff, we're in for a great deal of annoying stagnation in 2026, along with the related narrative that actually, this confusing mess unfolding before our eyes is crucial to whatever happens next. Even worse, in the real world that claim will likely prove correct.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

Most of the original five-film *Planet of the Apes* series is set in the further-flung future of Earth, but the new trilogy that started with 2011’s *Rise of the Planet of the Apes* starts closer to home, starting its timeline around 2016. Thus, when a virus that devastates the majority of Earth’s people has done its damage, and simultaneously boosted the cognitive abilities of apes, it’s only 2026, with further setbacks for mankind (and victories for apes) ahead. The post-credits scene of *Rise*, illustrating how rapidly this virus spreads globally and set in 2019, appears downright eerie in the aftermath of the real-world pandemic that would begin in 2020. In contrast, the movie *Dawn* seems less literal; if you can believe it, we’re already six years out from the onset of Covid-19, and humanity, though clearly impacted by the still-spreading virus, hasn't been wiped out, and our technology definitely has not been knocked out. Yet this most pessimistic of the four modern *Apes* movies (to date!) nonetheless contains a significant bummer to offer, implying that human and/or ape nature, however one defines either, will unavoidably result in warfare, no matter the efforts of the best-intentioned among us. We’re at the mercy of those who exploit others’ worst instincts, even if those drives don't represent the most. Right now, it feels hard to dispute that, despite the fact that we ought to try.

Metropolis

By far the most prominent portrayal of 2026 in film is from a movie nearing celebrating its 100th anniversary. Fritz Lang’s iconic silent film *Metropolis* takes place in a city of tomorrow where wealthy industrialists preside over the towers as laborers toil underground on the equipment that keep everything running. Rich city-dweller Freder, scion of the city’s master, has his perspective changed to these massive social gaps when he becomes obsessed with Maria, an underground activist who preaches a reconciliation of the two halves of Metropolis. A scientist with darker plans creates a robot in her likeness, aiming to bring the whole of Metropolis down in flames. In this narrative, a machine created to mimic a human isn't a tool of the ruling corporate class, but an entity who desires to witness their downfall; it's one element flipped by reality in a future that in other ways appears to be well on its way. *Metropolis* also imagines a world where advanced machinery depends on traditional manual labor, which seems like a perfect union of conservative contempt for “the working class” and corporate zeal for an tech boom. It hasn't yet materialized, but it's simple to picture a somewhat more utilitarian version of Lang’s city expanding out with the promise of a resurgence to manufacturing. The more complex, less plausible accomplishment is the conclusion of the film, where the gap between the haves and the have-nots is spanned with compassion; not so much with specific policies. Like *Dawn of the Planet of the Apes*, the movie advocates coexistence; unlike *Dawn*, it appears hopeful about the chance